After the treaty was signed and sealed in the hall of Castle Black, Ned Stark wasted no time. Ravens were sent in every direction—from Last Hearth to the Dreadfort, from White Harbor to Bear Island, and even farther south to King's Landing. The messages were simple, clear, and bound in the Stark seal: peace had been achieved. The North would not march to war, and the Free Folk would no longer be enemies. It was better to end a war before it ever began.

  When the ravens had flown, and the dusk began to settle over the Wall’s ruins, Ned found Jon—no, Gojo—walking in the courtyard with Snowylocks. The Child’s hand rested protectively on her stomach, her steps small and sure over the packed snow.

  “Jon,” Ned called softly.

  Gojo turned, his white hair catching the light, his amethyst eyes unreadable. Yet when he smiled, it was still the boy Ned had raised.

  Ned approached, nodding at Snowylocks. “I wanted to ask… the child. Have you chosen a name?”

  Gojo looked down at Snowylocks’ belly, his expression distant. “Megumi.”

  “A foreign name,” Ned said, his brow furrowed.

  Gojo nodded once.

  Ned placed a hand on Gojo’s shoulder, rough and warm. “A good name, then. And when your child is born… will you return to New Winterfell? Your cousins miss you.”

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  Gojo smiled. “After the birth, yes. I think it’s time I stopped running for a while.”

  Ned’s smile faded then. His voice grew quiet, serious. “There’s something else. Your hair… your eyes. Gods, Jon—you look like Rhaegar reborn. If Robert hears about you…”

  Gojo nodded before he even finished. Without hesitation, he pulled a length of dark cloth from his sleeve and tied it around his eyes. As if he’d done it a thousand times.

  “I’ll see through the magic,” he said. “The world doesn’t need to see me clearly.”

  Ned blinked, surprised. “You did that far too naturally.”

  Gojo grinned. “It’s an old habit.”

  That night, Ned called for a feast.

  The Free Folk, the Night’s Watch, the Stark bannermen, even a few Children of the Forest all gathered beneath Castle Black’s great hall, now adorned with greenlight lanterns and burning braziers. The mood was cautious but growing warmer with every shared drink and bite of roasted elk. With men gawking at the childnre of the forest.

  Benjen Stark sat at Ned’s side, still watching the Children warily. Snowylocks and Ash sat with Gojo, flanking him like twin stars orbiting a moon. Laughter trickled out when the crowd noticed their joined hands, the warmth between them.

  One bearded Wildling nudged another and grinned. “A Stark lad with children of the forest as two wives. Must be living every northern boy’s dream.”

  Gojo chuckled as he sipped his drink. “Actually, I’m lucky to have several husbands and wives.”

  The table went silent for a moment before a round of surprised laughter rolled out like thunder.

  Benjen raised an eyebrow, amused. Ned only sighed—long and deep—but a smile tugged at his lips.

  “You’re just like Brandon,” Ned muttered. “Maker help me.”

  Gojo leaned back, letting the warmth of the fire and the mingled voices wash over him. For the first time in two lives, he felt something close to peace. It wouldn’t last forever—nothing ever did—but for now, it was enough.